


The Lonely Hearts Club

by sifuamelia



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Awkward Romance, Dysfunctional Family, Eventual Romance, Multi, Opposites Attract, POV Female Character, POV Third Person, Valentine's Day Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-21 10:30:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11942256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sifuamelia/pseuds/sifuamelia
Summary: Maka’s been working evening shifts at Skullflower Florists for years, but newcomer Black Star has really thrown off her groove. Black Star is everything that she doesn’t like — loud, pushy, and all-around obnoxious — and Black Star isn’t a big fan of hers, either. Normally, she'd complain about him to her best friend — too bad Tsubaki's gone and fallen stupid in love with him. But after a chance encounter, she discovers that the tattoo artist next door is a surprisingly good listener...





	The Lonely Hearts Club

_Chocolates for ‘Alentines ‘Ay! For those of you who won’t be getting the V_ ** _or_ ** _the D this year!_

Maka Albarn stared at the flowery-lettered, blindingly hot pink sheet of paper with utter horror. _But I shouldn’t be surprised,_  she reminded herself.  _This is what Kid gets for hiring that absolute_ ** _sociopath_** _named—_

“Tasteful, isn’t it?” a voice remarked casually from behind her. Maka already knew who it was — that perpetually pompous tone could only belong to His Royal Asshat, the Most Infuriating Person in the Entire Universe and Any Universes Beyond That — but she turned around to face him anyway.

“You clearly don’t know the meaning of that word, 'Star,” Maka responded tiredly. She used the mop handle she’d been holding onto like a crutch to support her limp noodle body. It’d been a long day in classes, an even longer day at the tutoring center, and now she was stuck _here_ in what seemed like an endless purgatory for what little grasp she had left on her mind and soul. She’d been praying that it would be Kilik on registers when she arrived for her evening shift at the store, but she’d never been a particularly lucky person, and right now, that lack of luck was manifesting in none other than Black Star.

“What are you even trying to sell here?” she added, attempting a tone of boredom as a cover for her (regrettably genuine) curiosity.

“The chocolates,” Black Star indicated with a tip of his moon-round chin toward the neatly stacked pyramid of just that directly beneath his “advertisement.” “Can’t you read?” (That dig in particular was _incredibly_  meaningless — even though they ran in extremely different circles at the university, Black Star knew very, _very_ well that all Maka did was read.)

“I guess I just don’t get why you’re trying to market them solely to single people. That doesn’t seem like a very good business model.”

Black Star tapped at his shaggy mop of screaming-blue hair with his stubby pointer finger. “Think about it, Albarn. It’s weird to buy _flowers_ for yourself.” He spread his equally stubby arms wide to show off the rest of the floor, as if Maka had never noticed what they sold in the first place. “But chocolates? _Anyone_ can buy chocolates and eat their lonely heart out while crying over _Bridget Jones’s Diary_ and contemplating their depressingly loveless existence.”

“Even from a heart-shaped box?” she asked. Her voice was overflowing with sarcasm, but, as usual, Black Star had missed the boat, because he gave her a hard look.

“Yes. Even on this maudlin holiday that’s just an absolutely bullshit excuse for guys and their wallets to be taken advantage of—“

“Ladies!” came a sharp retort from over by the workroom entrance, and both Maka and Black Star’s heads whipped around to find a pale-as-death face staring them down in an uncomfortably menacing manner. While the Skullflower Florists chain of flower shops technically belonged to the ever-enigmatic Mr. Sama, it was his son (appropriately nicknamed "Kid") who managed the local branch day-to-day... and he took his job _very_ seriously.

“Foul language is a Class E.2 Workers’ Offense!” he said sternly, and it took all of Maka’s self-control to stifle a laugh when a definite glob of self-righteous spit landed on Black Star’s pale cheek. “As my employees, you’ve both read our company manual front-to-back, back-to-front—“

(If she was being completely honest, Maka hadn’t.)

“—so I can safely assume that you heathens know to stick to it!”

 _Heathens?_ Maka grimaced. She’d only been working her ass off at Skullflower for three far-too-long years…

Black Star shot her a cold glare as he swiped Kid’s unwanted bodily fluid off his face with his shirtsleeve. “Stick. To. It,” their boss echoed. The repetition was punctuated by claps like gunshots, rapidly bouncing off of Maka’s reluctant ears.

“Yessir,” she managed, as respectfully as she could in the midst of his dramatically twitching eye, as unusually golden as a sunbeam through a thunderstorm. (A _pint-sized_ thunderstorm. She was pretty sure that her boss was even tinier than she was, and she was pretty tiny.)

“Good.” Kid eyed Black Star suspiciously. “And you, Mr., uh... Star?”

“Anything for you, Boss Man,” Black Star responded with sickeningly faux cheer.

“Hmph.” With a theatrical whisk of his cloak-like trenchcoat, their manager disappeared into the depths of the store, somewhere beyond the overflowing rows of axelseed, honey roses, and sprig moondust. Skullflower usually received shipments from all over world on the weekly, but throughout the month of February, Maka had noticed over the years that the bouquets came in near daily. The place smelled amazing, and it was probably the only reason that she kept coming back to work each day.

“You done mopping up Aisle 7?” Black Star asked, snapping her out of her reverie.

“Yeah. You wanna do 8?”

“As if,” he muttered. It was then that the bell placed just over the shop's door tinkled, letting in a gust of cold air... and two giggling girls.

Black Star’s eyebrows wiggled. “And here’s our chocolate buying crowd, no boyfriends in sight. I’m tellin’ ya, Maka — I’m gonna make bank with this stuff.” He gave her the kind of side-eyed glance that made her skin crawl. “And you, my friend… You’ll be eating my dust trying to catch up.”

“We have the same job,” Maka reminded him dully. “Our salaries are exactly equal—“

“Commissions!” Black Star hollered over his shoulder, its obvious bulk (he never shut up about his arm day) barely disguised by his starchy work collar.

Maka stared after him. “Well, at least _I_ got far enough into Kid’s manual to know that we don’t make commissions here,” she said, but only to herself, because her co-worker had already strutted his way out of sight. She sighed, straightened herself up, and, mop plus bucket in tow, moved on to Aisle 8. The dripping hibiscus was living up to its name, and the store’s tiled floors were awfully sticky. She wasn’t about to earn Mr. Sama a lawsuit, though — she was always pretty thorough about cleaning them up so that nobody slipped, fell, broke their back, and sued them for every penny that they had.

After a few tired minutes, she finally made it to the end of the row, where she was in earshot of Black Star. She could just make out the little buffoon's conversation with their customers. “So I take it you ladies will be spending this V-day by your lonesomes?”

 _Ugh,_  Maka thought with a roll of her eyes. She could see the girls’ faces through the fronds of the massive palm in front of her, and they had begun giggling again. _Are they really buying into his crap?_

“I don’t think so,” one of the girls said coyly, batting her eyelashes. She eyed her friend, whose hand was on her elbow, and giggled some more.

“Oh, _really_?” Black Star asked, a smirk like a jack-o'-lantern's stretching its way across his face. It was then that Maka noticed that her co-worker’s elbow was migrating dangerously close to the snapping cow plant (named for its black and white mottled skin… and nastily sharp teeth that were _literally_ thirsty for blood). “You thinkin’ ‘bout going home with somebody—“

Before Maka even knew what was happening, the snapping cow bit Black Star’s shirtsleeve clean off.

“ARGH!” Black Star shouted, darting away from the snapping cow with surprising grace. “What the fu—“

“Language, Mr. Star!” thundered Kid from the back office.

“—dge monkey,” Black Star finished with a mumble.

Maka’s repressed laughter from before bubbled to the top of her throat, and she couldn’t stop herself from letting it out. Black Star immediately dove for the palm frond, swiping it out of his way to see her startled face. “Think that’s funny, huh, Bookworm?” he hissed. His usually rounded eyes had gone narrow, and this made Maka laugh even harder.

“Hey, man,” Maka choked out. “They do, too.” Black Star whipped back around — the girls had gone from bashful giggles to full-on snorting laughter. The one with the choppy pink hair was legitimately guffawing.

It was then that the shop's bell tinkled once more, and a girl in a long white peacoat stepped through the door. Hood down, she shook dripping snow from her ink-black cascade of a ponytail. Maka sighed at the sight of a puddle forming in the entryway, but she couldn’t find it in herself to be _too_ aggravated — after all, Tsubaki Nakatsukasa was her best friend/roommate.

“Maka!” Tsubaki called out at the sight of her, waving her cell phone in the air like a flag. “Maka, I got your text, is everything—“ Suddenly, she stopped short. Maka followed the other girl’s surprised stare and found that her gaze had landed on none other than—

“Well, hello there, angel,” Black Star murmured. Shockingly enough, he didn’t even sound all that sly as he completely abandoned his targets from seconds ago so that he could sidle up to Tsubaki. “What’s a woman like you doing in a place like this?” He was a full head shorter than her, but Tsubaki didn’t look the slightest bit perturbed.

“H-Hi,” she breathed. Maka had the sudden urge to scream.

“But in all seriousness,” he continued, “you’re the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever seen in my entire life. Where’ve you been?”

Maka was all too ready for Tsubaki to shoot him down — clowns like Black Star hit on her all the time — but all her best friend did was… _giggle_? “Hanging out with Maka,” she replied, her voice a little more throaty than usual.

Black Star cast a glance back at her. Everything about him besides his actual mouth was smirking. “Poor you," he replied.

“N-No, she’s my—“

“You’re bleeding, ‘Star,” Maka suddenly noticed.

“What—“

“Elbow.” She tapped on her own, just in case the thick-headed numbskull didn’t know what she meant.

Black Star grinned up at Tsubaki, whose dark eyes had gone saucer-round. “It’s only a flesh wound, babe. I’ve had worse.”

Maka nearly threw up in her own mouth at that one, but she managed to just roll her eyes instead. “Hey, Kid!” she shouted in the direction of the office. “Do we have a first aid kit?”

“No. I never injure myself.”

“Riiiiight.” Maka eyed the snapping cow plant with a high degree of suspicion. “I’ll just go ask next door, I guess.” She glanced back at Tsubaki. She’d sent her best friend an S.O.S. text an hour ago, but now, the other girl was busy fraternizing with the very enemy whom Maka had hoped to be rescued from by way of girl power company. But Tsubaki? She was practically starry-eyed.

“I’m gonna go grab some gauze and medical tape, okay?” No response. Not even a glance backward of acknowledgement. “Ugh,” she muttered under her breath as she edged past them for the door.

 _Some best friend,_ she thought, her headspace suddenly full of surprisingly nasty thoughts.

 

* * *

 

It was late, and the strip mall was darker than usual. Maka’s teeth were chattering (she’d left her coat inside, but the mere thought of returning to witness the horrendous flirtations going on in there made her stomach turn) as she looked around for lit doors and windows. The lights were off at Blair’s Cat Café, but the shop next door to Skullflower was still open. _Tattoos by Evans_ , its sign read in glowing red neon. It was a relatively new establishment, but she’d met the owner a few weeks ago when he’d come in to buy a succulent.

Wes. Shaped like a beanpole. Played the violin. Arms covered in swirling music notes, and eyes the color of red wine beneath a shockingly white mess of hair. She knew for a fact that he was the reason why all the college girls had suddenly been flocking in droves to get new ink, and while she didn’t find Wes to be particularly unattractive, she was pretty sure that he was seeing someone. A trucker, maybe? The straw-haired woman who hung around in there, her hat always pulled down low over her eyes, seemed to be coming and going all the time.

The cold metal of the parlor door's handle was as much of a shock to her system as a burn off her tea kettle back at home, but inside the shop it was warm, even cozy. She shivered, rubbing her hands up and down her shirtsleeves as rapidly as she could.

“Sorry, we’re closing up soon,” called a voice from the back. Through the dimmed lights, she could just make out a white-haired guy — Wes — leaning back in a chair that looked like it belonged in a doctor's office.

“That’s fine,” she called back. “I’m coming from the flower shop next door, I was just wondering if you have any first aid supplies. My coworker might be bleeding to death.”

Wes re-tilted his chair into an upright position. “You don’t sound particularly bothered by that.”

Maka hesitated. “We-ell…”

He snorted. “We’ve got a kit, you can borrow it. It might be running low on gauze, though…”

As Wes noisily rummaged through what was probably a cabinet drawer (the angle of the door made it hard to see what was really going on in there), she took a step further into the shop. The walls were oxblood red with a shiny black beadboard, and the ceiling had been gracefully painted with a pattern that she recognized as the one that decorated the owner’s arms. What looked to be a collection of antique violins — very beautiful ones, Maka realized — decorated the far wall. A nameplate had been left out on the front desk — _Patricia Thompson, Receptionist_ — alongside a framed photo of none other than the straw-haired woman and a younger, blonder girl who definitely had to be related to her. Next to that was a picture of Wes… and a bona fide clone? She peered a little closer—

“Here ya go,” said a voice.

She looked up into the face of someone who looked like Wes… but _definitely_ wasn’t Wes.

 

* * *

 

"Here," Maka said tiredly, tossing the first aid kit in Black Star's direction. He lunged for it but stumbled; Tsubaki caught it instead.

"Jesus, Maka—"

"You're welcome," she interrupted.

Tsubaki had the gall to be frowning at her. "What's wrong, Maka?" she asked slowly.

She was saved from having to answer — the pink-haired girl and her friend were still there, and just as Black Star had predicted, they'd decided on a heart-shaped box of assorted candies. But they'd also picked out two matching cacti, and the sight of the little plants made Maka smile, just a tiny bit.

"I'll ring you two up," she offered.

"Thanks," the other girl — the one without pink hair — said. Maka ducked behind the counter, turning her key in the cash register with slightly trembling hands. The root of the trembling was unknown to her, but for now, she'd just put it down to the cold weather.

"That'll be thirty-eight dollars."

As Pink began counting change, Maka offered her and her friend an apologetic smile. "Sorry about all that nonsense earlier. He kinda sucks sometimes." At this point, she didn't feel the slightest bit of remorse for trash-talking her coworker. He'd been a sexist pig, insulted her, ignored his job responsibilities... and hit on Tsubaki. All in the course of fifteen minutes, to boot. And then—

She shook her head slightly. She didn't want to think any further about the sight of those red eyes staring down at her. Not yet.

Pink just giggled. "No worries. It happens all the time."

"Do you actually have Valentine's Day plans?" Maka asked politely.

Pink and her friend eyed each other. "Nothing too firm yet," the dark-haired one replied. "But it's our fifth anniversary, so it'll definitely be something special." She nudged her friend — no, her _girl_ friend — with the softest of smiles, and Pink planted a big kiss on her cheek in response.

Suddenly, Maka felt the teensiest bit better. "Congratulations," she said, handing them their bag. "Five years? That sounds really..."

 _That sounds really nice,_ she thought to herself.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Tsubaki still chattering away to Black Star, her long fingers curled around his arm as she carefully wiped away at his snapping cow bite.

 

* * *

 

"Now, when it comes to Python, it's a programming language, but it can also do the kind of scripting work that we've been learning about the past couple of weeks... Just like in Java..."

Maka's eyes felt even heavier than they usually did in CS 102 as she gazed out the classroom window. All comp sci classes took place in the same engineering building where the university kept its online servers running, and the presence of thousands upon thousands of large-scale computers squatting just below her feet gave off a sort of pleasant humming sound that was audible no matter which floor you were on. Normally, she found it calming, but today, it was especially sleepiness-inducing. Plus, her professor's unceasing drone wasn't helping matters. His course was just another mandated distribution requirement for her, and even though the subject matter was definitely complex at times, she'd already read the entire textbook. She was pretty sure that she'd scrape at least a B on the midterm without an ounce of studying. If attendance wasn't mandatory, she would've been skipping out on the entire ordeal altogether. She sighed a little at the thought of that.

 _Mama would be so proud,_ she thought wearily.

It was still snowing outside, sticky and wet. A flash of red outside on the slick walking path caught her eye — a scarf billowing in the wind around a girl's neck as she hurried into the life sciences building next door. The color still took up her entire field of vision, even after the student had disappeared inside.

Red like eyes. Like _wide_ red eyes.

"You look a lot like Wes," was the first thing that had come out of her mouth last night.

His hand had paused on the first aid kit's handle. Over those eyes, his skinny brows had crooked, though out of annoyance or amusement, she hadn't been able to tell. "So I've been told."

"I thought you were him just now, you know. We met a few days ago." It was then that she'd realized that her fingers were still resting atop his around the handle — she'd immediately tugged them away, stuffing them into the rough pocket of her black work apron instead.

His eyes had followed the line of her movement. Definitely amused. "You're the girl he bought the succulent from."

"Y-Yes."

“He talks to it in a baby voice. Worst thing that’s ever happened around here.”

“…Oh.” Something in Maka’s stomach had lurched.

"Maka... right?" She'd never heard anyone else in her entire life make her four-letter name sound so...  _indecent_. What was up with those eyes, anyway? Why were they so… _Ugh._ All she'd been able to do to reply to him was hurriedly nod—

"Maka Albarn." It was like a hand clamped tight around her neck, viciously squeezing the breath straight out of her. Her vision jolted back into reality to see that the entire comp sci class was staring at her.

"I asked you a question," Dr. Franken Stein remarked from the front of the classroom. His voice was just as droning as ever, but it had a strangely hard undercurrent running beneath it. "You have yet to provide me with an answer." He gazed at her in a way that somehow managed to simultaneously seem both disinterested  _and_  intrigued. Altogether, it was a very, _very_ unnerving effect.

"C-Can you repeat—"

"What is the benefit of writing a program in Python versus, say, a script like Java?"

Despite everything, she felt the oddest urge to laugh. Just because she was wrapping up her BME degree didn't mean she'd forgotten how to use a computer. "Python's more condensed. Fewer lines of code can express more things. Less work for the programmer than it would be in Java, or even C++, probably."

Stein blinked.

"...That's it, right?" She shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

"Very good, Miss Albarn," the professor finally acquiesced. With a few lingering murmurs, the eyes of her classmates finally refocused themselves somewhere else, and she breathed an audible sigh of relief.

 

* * *

 

"Why are you in this class, Miss Albarn?"

Maka stopped short. She'd been so close to freedom — after two dreadful hours, the door was  _finally_  in sight — but now... She drew in a deep breath, looking back at Dr. Stein as the rest of her classmates plowed their way around her toward the exit. The professor’s long fingers, their skin colored a shade so pale that she was sure it had never seen sunlight, were steepled atop his desk. His eyes were just as drably gray as the rest of him. _Does this guy_ ** _ever_** _get outside?_

"Honestly? It's one of my distribution requirements to finish up my program." She hesitated, attempting to gauge his reaction to her less-than-flattering admission. He didn't seem the least bit offended, though — at least, he didn't  _appear_  to be offended — so she finished (rather lamely) with, "It never fit into my schedule before, though, so... here I am. A few years too late, I guess, but…“ Her hands twisted in her winter gloves as his unsettling gray stare bored into her.

"You're a senior, aren't you? Biomedical engineering?" He shuffled his roster papers in front of him, squinting from behind thick bottle-bottom glasses. “And top of your class, too, from the looks of it." He looked up at her. "We haven't even touched on C++ yet... Have you already gone and read the entire textbook?"

"...Maybe."

"Huh." He shuffled his papers some more. "Bit of honesty on my end, then, as well — I don't really like having seniors,  _especially_  second semester seniors, in my classes. Granted, I don't really like students in general, but the university says I have to teach if I want to keep using their labs, so..."

Maka stared at him.

"You seem a little less lazy than most of your peers, though. Impressive. Most impressive..."

Maka stared at him some more.

"Well. That settles it." He stood up, and she took an involuntary step backward. "You can do the rest of the coursework required for this class as an independent study. You submit it to me by the end of the semester, I sign off on it, pass it on to the department, and you're all set. No face time required."

"Seriously?" she squeaked. She couldn't believe it.  _I never have to come back here ever again?_

"Seriously."

 _Thank_ ** _God_** _,_  was what she said in her head. But aloud, she went with the far more socially acceptable, "Thank you for trusting me with this… _opportunity_ , Dr. Stein."

He eyed her. "Don't screw it up."

 

* * *

 

"You're here awfully early," Kid remarked, appraising Maka with a certain degree of suspicion. "I don’t usually see you till it's dark out."

"Can I have some more hours?" she asked, somewhat breathlessly. She leaned against the doorframe to his office, her chest tight from the cold outside. She'd practically ran all the way to Skullflower as soon as her conversation with Stein had ended, iced-over sidewalks be damned.

Her boss’s lips pursed. “How many more are we talking?"

"Just two or three more on Tuesdays and Thursdays up until I graduate. I-If that isn't too much."

"Hmmmmm..."

"I got out of one of my classes," she explained. "And... I could really use the extra cash, Kid."

To her complete and utter shock, his eyes softened infinitesimally. “Well, you _have_ been working here for awhile... and you  _do_  do your job. Unlike  _some_  people." Her eyebrows nearly shot up into her hairline at _that_ one — whomever the boss was talking about, it  _definitely_  wasn't Kilik, and that was cause enough for a knowing smile.

“Alright, then. Just for the semester. Same pay rate."

She suddenly had a strong, sincere urge to throw her arms around him and squeeze him into an airtight hug, but it probably would’ve been the last thing that she ever did, so instead, she resorted to reaching out for an eager handshake. “Thanks so much, seriously, I won't let you down—"

He waved her away with a disinterested hand as his desktop phone began to ring. "Skullflower Florists, this is Kid..."

Maka walked out of the back with a skip in her step. No more entry level course, no more creepy professor. And now, more money. Perhaps her senior spring wouldn't be so horrible after all—

There was the first aid kit, bright orange and impossible to miss, still sitting out on the register counter. Kilik was stationed there for the afternoon, and he looked as bored out of his mind as ever. The shop was always dead in the early afternoon hours, and as she approached him, she could see that her coworker was doing some kind of portfolio assignment, his latest sketches spread haphazardly across the counter's surface. Illustration majors — neat artists, messy people.

"This thing yours?" he asked her, tapping the kit with the sharp tip of his Ticonderoga pencil. “Been here since yesterday.”

"N-Not mine…” Maka eyed the kit warily. "It belongs to the guy next door." As soon as she said it, she realized that she hadn't actually asked for Wes's brother's name.

“Wes Evans?”

So Kilik had met him, too. “No… His brother, I think.”

“Oh!” Behind his square-framed glasses, Kilik’s narrow eyes brightened. “That guy’s amazing!” He dropped his pencil and pushed up his sleeves — tattooed on his left bicep was a jagged, sparking bolt of thunder; on the right, a bursting curl of flame, as brilliant as noonday sunshine. The colors seemed to be practically popping off her coworker’s dark skin. Maka knew very little about tattoos, but she knew that she’d never seen such vibrant ink in her entire life. They were literally works of art.

“I gave him barebones sketches, but he did all the heavy lifting.” Kilik wiggled his eyebrows at her as he planted kisses on both tattoos before rolling his shirtsleeves back down. “True genius.”

“They’re for your brother and sister?”

“Yup.” He grinned. “If you’re looking to get inked, that guy’s the way to go. Seriously.”

Maka bit her lip. “Good to know.”

Her coworker leaned in just a little bit closer, squinting at her slightly. “No offense, Albarn, but you look kinda weird. You were so cheery a moment ago. What happened?”

She just shook her head, reaching for the kit. “I should go and give this back,” she murmured.

Kilik gave her one last look before shrugging and returning to his work. The shop’s bell tinkled overhead as she exited Skullflower, the Mystery Evans’s first aid kit pressed tightly to her suddenly racing heart.

 

* * *

 

"Howdy, stranger!" The girl seated behind the receptionist's desk looked to be about Maka's age, although her face — sparkling sapphire eyes, healthily-pinked cheeks, 1,000-watt smile — made her seem a bit younger. She didn't have a frown line in sight, while Maka knew that she herself was currently developing at _least_ three. "How can I help ya? Here for an appointment?"

"No," Maka shook her head. She really did want to smile at this girl — her cheerfulness was astounding — but her heart was too busy beating its way into her throat. "I, uh. I have this." She held up the bright orange kit for the girl to see.

"Oh, is that ours, then?" She pronounced "ours" like "ares." _Definitely_ not a native to the area. "Alrighty, I can give it back to the boss—"

"A-Actually..." Maka hesitated. Took a deep breath. "May I? I wanted to thank him. Y-You know, for letting us use it."

The girl's blonde eyebrows furrowed for just a few seconds, but then her face cleared once more. "I don't see why not. Just have a seat out here. He should be done with his client soon, and we don't have any appointments for the rest o' the day. In fact, I'm just waiting on dinner. Gotta get that free food where I can, yanno?"

Maka could nod to _that_ one. "Thanks, uh..." She glanced at the nameplate.

"You can call me Patty, by the way. Patricia's such a grandma name, ain't it?" The girl — Patty — grinned at her. "What's yours?"

"Maka, Maka Albarn."

"Ah, the girl next door! Right, right." Patty smiled knowingly. "I heard 'bout ya." She leaned forward at her desk. "Wes loves that succulent of yours. He takes it with him everywhere now. It's like his baby. My big sis — that's his girl, see, here's a picture — thinks she's being right replaced."

Maka was able to smile genuinely at that one. Something about Patty was making her feel a little more relaxed. "Well, give your sister my apologies."

"Naw." Patty waved her off. "Liz's a good sport. She just likes to yank his tail, 's'all. That marriage is gonna be full of nonsense."

"They're getting married?" Maka eyed the picture on top of Patty's desk that she'd spied the night before. The two sisters were laughing at some offscreen joke. They looked so... _happy_.

"Yup! Few weeks from now, in fact! Valentine's Day. Buncha saps." The receptionist kissed her pointer finger and laid it on Picture Liz's cheek. Then she paused — Maka felt that she could literally see the lightbulb going on in her head. "Hey, here's a right idea! Y'all at Skullflower should do the arrangements for their wedding!"

"O-Oh, I—"

"Yeah, yeah! It's a small thing, nuffin' too fancy. They would've gotten married in a park or backyard or whatever, but it's a lot colder here than it was back out west, and they didn't do a single bit o' anticipatin' that." Patty shook her head. "Liz coulda checked the weather reports before she moved us up here. But yeah, anyway, whaddya say? It's at City Hall on Valentine's morning."

"...I could talk to my boss about it? I guess? He might not be able to do it on such short notice, but..."

"Tell him it's true love!" Patty practically shouted.

"Okay, okay," Maka giggled, attempting to placate the younger girl. "I'll try my best to persuade him."

Patty was beaming. "Wow, you're the best, Maka Albarn!" Without warning, she stood up, rounded her desk, and threw her arms around Maka. A truly airtight hug — with her face stuffed into the receptionist's alarmingly impressive bosom, she felt as if she was nearing asphyxiation—

"Patty! Don't cut off her air supply!" called a voice from the back. "She's turning purple!"

"Aw, shoot!" Patty dropped her like a hot potato. "Sorry, girlie. I'm just real excitable." She turned around to faced the back of the empty parlor. "Howdy, Wes!"

 _Wes._ Maka could feel her heart sink like a stone to the bottom of a river. All that getting worked-up for nothing... She turned around as well and offered the older tattooist a small wave.

"How you been, neighbor?" he asked as he approached them. His eyes settled on the first aid kit. "...Everything alright?"

"O-Oh, yeah, this is yours," she explained hastily. "I borrowed it last night because my coworker was bleeding to death."

Wes's reaction was eerily similar to his brother's. "You don't sound so bothered by that."

"If I'm being honest... he's not my favorite person."

Wes chuckled at that. "Well, I hope he's still alive. Wouldn't want the strip mall to suddenly be haunted by a bleeding ghost."

"Wes believes in spooks," Patty supplied. "Must run in the family, 'cause so does—"

The door slammed, and they all jumped where they stood. "Hey, guys, I got dinner—" A pause. "... _Maka_?"

Unbidden, her heart fluttered. She immediately found his eyes. They were widened in surprise... and, unless she was imagining it, a bit pleased. "H-Hey, I have your thing." She stuck out her arm almost robotically as she offered up the bright orange kit.

"Th-Thanks. Uh." He tipped his chin toward the massive paper bag cradled in his arms, and it was then that she realized that there was no way that he would be able to take it from her. But this was quickly remedied — Patty almost immediately dove in and snatched the bag.

"This smells better than a magnolia in May!" She sniffed the bag, and like a character straight out of a Saturday morning cartoon, her eyes seemed to roll straight up into the back of her head at the delicious aroma emanating from it. "Where'd ya get it from?"

"They're just subs from Oxford's. Nothing too fancy." He slowly reached out and finally took the kit out of Maka's hands. She could barely look at him for fear of straight-up melting into nothing where she stood. Those eyes would be her undoing. "Thanks for bringing it back."

"Thanks for giving it to me."

There was a small silence, then — Maka staring at Mystery Evans, Mystery Evans staring back, Wes's eyes darting between the two of them, and Patty-the-Receptionist cradling the back of sandwiches like a person would a newborn baby.

"Patty!" Wes suddenly exclaimed, and Maka nearly jumped straight out of her winter boots. "Come to the back with me, I have to, uh, show you, uh... something."

"But _We-es_ —"

"Just bring the food with you."

"Oh, well, alright. Bye, Maka! See ya 'round!"

And just like that, she was alone... with _him_. He seemed to be gazing longingly after the bag of food as it disappeared into the back office with Patty and Wes, but when he caught her stare (because of _course_ she was still staring like an idiot), the faintest pink tinged his enviably tan cheeks. It was the middle of winter, yet the guy looked like he'd been hitting up the beach on a regular basis.

She coughed awkwardly. "Well, I'll be going..." But she didn't move. She didn't think she'd be able to if she tried.

"Is he okay?"

"O-Oh, Black Star?" She smiled wanly. "Yeah, unfortunately."

"Black Star?" He frowned. "He works at Skullflower?"

Maka gulped. "You know him?" And there she'd been, saying her ill wishes out loud. She'd always had a big mouth, and her mama had always been chiding her for it. "Sorry, I didn't know, I just—"

"He's my roommate," he explained, and this made her feel even worse, until he tacked on the addendum of, "but we're on completely different wavelengths, truth be told. Guy's in and out all the time, always on the arm of a different girl from what I can tell."

She pursed her lips at that one. She _needed_ to have a chat with Tsubaki before things took a turn for the worse.

"So he's the one that's got you fuming, huh?" Wes's brother's grin crooked slightly. "Well, if you ever need to let off some steam... you're welcome here. 'S'long as I don't have a client and all that."

The pool of nervousness that had been swirling like a hurricane in the pit of her stomach slowed its course, just slightly. She could still feel her heart threatening to burst its way out of her chest, but in that moment, his offer was too damn tempting to refuse. Because although she was afraid that looking into those eyes for too long would cause her to spontaneously combust, it was also those eyes that were currently making her pulse sing. "I... Thanks."

"No problem."

With a quick nod, she made to excuse herself, but then, just in time—

"Look, um... I don't actually know your name."

Once again, his eyebrows quirked below the choppy fringe of his snow-white hairline. "Seriously? Nobody's told you yet?"

"Least of all, you," Maka countered before she could stop herself. His smile stretched its way even farther across his face, and that was enough to make her pop a blush of her own. But she held her ground, shooting him a pointed stare, and that was enough to make him chuckle.

"The name's Soul," he said.

 _Finally,_ she thought, a smile nearly breaking her face in half.

 

* * *

 

As Maka practically bounced her way back toward her apartment, she found herself making a list in her head:

 

1\. His name's Soul Evans.

2\. He tattoos people. (And well, if Kilik's arms are any indication of it.)

3\. He's Black Star's roommate—

 

She nearly stumbled over an iced-over crack in the sidewalk at that one. _Wait a minute. If he lives with Black Star, and 'Star's still at the university—_

 

4\. He's at the university.

5\. His smile's going to kill me.

 

Maka stopped in her tracks. The sky had darkened long ago, but a fiery band of sunlight was still visible on the horizon, peeking through gaps between university buildings and residential townhouses. The snowflakes were fewer and farther between, but the air was just as cold as over.

 _What would Mama think?_ A huffed breath spiraled away from her, disappearing into the twilight. Her parents' relationship — if it could even be called that — had taught her a long time ago that love wasn't a promise. Just because everyone around you seemed to be falling into it didn't mean that it was guaranteed. And Soul — Soul was just an attraction. She just liked the look of him, and that was all. She didn't actually _know_ him, so why was she even wasting these types of thoughts on him?

 _But you aren't Mama,_ a tiny voice at the back of her head whispered. _And you aren't your papa, either. You can't just live in fear of losing something, especially something that you don't even have—_

Maka squared her shoulders beneath her oversized parka. The Valentine's Day spirit might have infiltrated her heartbeat, but she refused to let it mess with her head. It was decided right then and there — she'd be staying as far away from Tattoos by Evans as she possibly could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I was a Sim, I would definitely have the "Hopeless Romantic" trait.


End file.
